A Return To Normality

Suede boots: ruined.
Wrist: aching like all hell.
Handbag: Soaking wet.
Shins: Scraped and probably a little bloody.

Time in Glasgow without falling over: six weeks.

An Unbroken Arm, A Sexual Predator In Training, FAIL! And Re-Tweeting

I had quite a good day today, well, by quite a good day I do mean a number of things happened which I can retell as amusing anecdotes.

It all started this morning, or last night depending on how you look at it, just after closing time: The Flatmate and his Violent Sidekick returned to the flat in their three favourite states: drunk, loud and fighting.  The fighting, as ever, progressed from name-calling into physical violence and Violent Sidekick either fell or was pushed off the bed.  This, of course, led him to decide that his arm was broken and that he needed an ambulance.  [When envisaging this tale in your head be sure to remember and add in as many swear words and homophobic slurs as you can think of – and say everything a minimum of three times in order to get the full effect].  Violent Sidekick was determined that The Flatmate should be the one to call an ambulance, despite the fact that Violent Sidekick had a phone of his own.  No ambulance was called.

Three hours or so later and it’s getting up time for people with 9-to-5 jobs, so Violent Sidekick got up complete with two fully functioning arms.  It’s one of the lesser known side effects of being a Drama Queen: potation-related hypercalcimia where the bones knit back together at an astonishingly fast rate, but it does leave you feeling headachey and vomity all day in a manner not dissimilar to that of a hangover.

The fun was still coming by lunchtime.  As I walked passed a random clothes shop that I would never wear anything from a pair of girls in the window had stripped down four mannequins and were setting about dressing-up the headless figurines in the new season’s must-haves.  Standing outside the window was an eleven or twelve year old boy – eyes agog and mouth agape – on his mobile phone: “Get down here quick there’s [sic] plastic boobs”.

After lunch, there was very little work to be done in the office so we were amusing ourselves between phone calls from people who should really know better.  One particular phone call got my colleague Alien particularly irate [the whyfor isn’t important but, trust me, it was justified] so I printed her a little picture for her noticeboard to remind her of the occasion and to provide a calming influence should any similar situation arise in the future

In order to affix the above print-out to her noticeboard I needed to climb onto the desk and being the clumsiest girl in the known universe [and that is not hyperbolic] I slipped, just a little bit but by all accounts it turned into a slo-mo fall and the people watching were more freaked out than I was.  It made enough noise to cause the people three offices away to come rushing though – cake still in hand – to watch the aftermath.  I was completely fine and laughing it up with one colleague while the other –Alien – looked like she was going to go into shock.  She kept asking me if I was sure I hadn’t got a drawer sticking into my leg [you see, I fell onto an open drawer which she thought I must’ve impaled myself on].  Re-telling the story it isn’t quite as funny, I could have been seriously injured – but if I was then it was decided I would’ve sued on health and safety grounds through the most patronising of all the ambulance-chaser ads on the telly for there was no signage indicating that staff should not climb onto desks to affix sweary posters to noticeboards.

Finally I had my biggest ever day on twitter, and being the geek that I am, was giddy with giddiousness about it. Amanda Palmer re-tweeted me and then loads of people re-tweeted her re-tweeting me.  It was only a link to, what I believe to be, one of the top ten websites out there: http://www.davidbowieisverydisappointedinyou.com and it was only three minutes or so of twitter-mention-a-rama but it was awsum, becoz I iz a geek.

All in all, ‘twas a good day.

If I’m not back tomorrow then I won’t be back until next week.  I’m off on Sunday to spend a week in a variety of Scottish cities catching up with The Boyf, seeing shows, seeing my parents and starting to move-out.